


The Demon Fox and the Lightning Tree

by manic_intent



Category: Ghost of Tsushima (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, M/M, Pre-Canon, Ryuzo's Mythic Tale, That pre-canon AU focused on Ryuzo's surprisingly detailed katana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26872885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: Ryuzo bit his tongue at the sound of sobbing drifting through the dark trees, goosebumps pricking up his arm. As he hissed and swore under his breath, the weeping stopped, then picked up again as soft gasps. A ghost? Sounded like a child—but weren’t zashiki-warashi meant to be mischievous rather than malicious? Ryuzo was tempted to run home, but the knowledge that he’d have to face his older brother Daijiro’s teasing for weeks rooted him on the spot. He grit his teeth and forced himself to take a step forward, hands clenched. For all he knew, thiswasone of Daijiro’s elaborate pranks.
Relationships: Sakai Jin/Ryuzo
Comments: 12
Kudos: 77





	The Demon Fox and the Lightning Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [londonfog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/londonfog/gifts).



> Donation fic for @londonfog, who asked for a story based on the concept art / backstory for Ryuzo’s sword, Splinter of Goshinboku: 
> 
> No supernatural elements beyond Ghost of Tsushima level of supernatural. 
> 
> Now that I’ve finally gotten around to reading the Ghost of Tsushima artbook, I see I’ve made an error in my headcanon: Jin grows up in Omi village with Ryuzo, not Castle Shimura. Kind of assumed that wasn’t the case given he was taken in as his uncle’s ward (and the flashback where Jin gets upset over Ryuzo saying his uncle will forget him was just outside the castle), but I guess even as a boy he’d technically have a lot of things to do in the village his clan oversees. I won’t go back and change all my work, but this story will reflect the artbook’s backstory. 
> 
> One other thing about the concept art of Ryuzo’s sword: it is weirdly beautiful given the rest of his character design–surprised me when I first saw the detailed artwork. Other than the straw tied to the scabbard, it’s as intricate as the blades worn by the samurai-class characters. This story is a story about that.

Ryuzo bit his tongue at the sound of sobbing drifting through the dark trees, goosebumps pricking up his arm. As he hissed and swore under his breath, the weeping stopped, then picked up again as soft gasps. A ghost? Sounded like a child—but weren’t zashiki-warashi meant to be mischievous rather than malicious? Ryuzo was tempted to run home, but the knowledge that he’d have to face his older brother Daijiro’s teasing for weeks rooted him on the spot. He grit his teeth and forced himself to take a step forward, hands clenched. For all he knew, this _was_ one of Daijiro’s elaborate pranks. 

Sucking on the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, Ryuzo made it to the next tree in the woods. “Oi!” he called, his voice shaky. The sobbing stopped. Taking in another breath, Ryuzo asked, “Who’s there?” 

After a pause where Ryuzo considered running home anyway, brothers be damned, a small voice said, “Go away.” 

Didn’t sound like a ghost. Ryuzo forced himself to walk over. A boy lay curled under a tree. From his fine clothes and pale skin, the boy looked out of place in Omi forest. More like a divine spirit than a child, but for his scraped arms and torn sleeves, darkened by grass stains. One of the samurai children. Ryuzo stiffened. His mother had carefully coached her three sons how to address the samurai. Lord this and lord that. Shintaro was fine, but Daijiro and Ryuzo hadn’t taken naturally to deference in all things. 

“Going to be a cold night,” Ryuzo said as the kid sniffled. “You’ll freeze out here. Where are your servants? My lord,” he added belatedly. 

The boy looked wearily up at Ryuzo. “Leave me alone.” 

“Are you lost? Or did you run away from home?” At the second question, the boy flushed and averted his eyes. Ryuzo laughed—which got him a glare.

“If you mean to mock me, leave.” 

“No, just—a samurai boy ran away from home? What’s there to run away from? You people with your fine clothes, with all the food you could eat even in high winter.” 

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Why? Because I’m a peasant?” Ryuzo asked, growing a little annoyed. “Fine. Stay here and freeze then.” 

“I…” The boy got to his feet. Smaller and slighter than Ryuzo, he looked younger, too. “I didn’t mean that. Never mind.” He forced a smile. “I’m Jin.” 

“Ryuzo,” Ryuzo said. He reached over and grabbed Jin’s hand and hissed—it was icy. “Come on.” Jin opened his mouth to object but closed it as Ryuzo tugged him back toward the farm, going quiet. Unnerved by the silence, Ryuzo said, “My home’s not that far from here. A small farm. We’ll get you home, wherever that is. What clan are you from?”

“Sakai,” Jin said, and looked embarrassed as Ryuzo shot him an incredulous look.

“Clan Sakai? Doesn’t your clan rule this part of the prefecture? What are you doing out here, then?” 

“Life just felt unbearable,” Jin mumbled, lowering his gaze. He tensed as Ryuzo sniffed. 

“How unbearable can it be? You daimyō lords rule over the rest of us. Always have, always will. All you’ve got to do is gather taxes off our backs and marry who you’re told.” 

“My mother passed. Last month,” Jin said. He rubbed his eyes, even as Ryuzo grimaced. 

“Oh. Sorry to hear that.” They walked in uncomfortable silence through the woods. Past the tree line, the small farmhouse made itself known against the rice fields as a tiny pool of light. Part of it detached, bobbing up to the trees as Ryuzo and Jin walked closer, resolving against the shadows as Shintaro’s anxious face. Ten years older than Ryuzo, Shintaro had taken to managing the farm after their father’s death. It’d aged him quickly out of childhood. The easygoing boy who’d loved taking his brothers fishing and hunting had swiftly grown into a serious young man, prone to stressing out. 

“Ryuzo! There you are. Don’t you know how worried mother has been?” He paused as he noticed Jin belatedly, his eyes widening as he looked at Jin’s muddy clothes and wan face. “What did you do? Isn’t this…?” 

“Lord Sakai, yes,” Ryuzo said, though the honorific sounded more sarcastic than deferential on his tongue. “Found him freezing to death in the woods.” 

“Oh. I’ll. Saddle up the farmhorse and take him back to the clan. I mean, Lord Sakai, please allow me to bring you home,” Shintaro said, stumbling over his tongue in his embarrassment. 

Daijiro jogged up over from the house beside him, grinning with mischief. “Wah, Ryuzo! You finally made it home? What’s the matter, got lost? Found a stray too, hm?” 

“Daijiro!” Shintaro hissed, cuffing Daijiro on the ear. He bowed to Jin. “Please accept my apology, Lord Sakai. My brothers are young and haven’t yet learned how to watch their tongues.” 

“It’s all right,” Jin said, looking even more embarrassed. “You’ve all been very kind to me. I don’t want to trouble you further—I should be able to get home from here by myself.” 

“Before or after you freeze on the roads?” Ryuzo asked. He pushed Jin gently toward Shintaro. “Just accept the ride home. Don’t be shy.” 

“I… all right.” Jin squeezed Ryuzo’s hand. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Ryuzo said.

As Daijiro and Ryuzo watched Shintaro ride off with Jin on the old horse, Daijiro said, “Found the son of the daimyō lord in the forest, hm? Only you.” 

“Thought he was a ghost at first,” Ryuzo admitted, and shoved his brother as Daijiro snickered. 

“Did you get scared? Cry? I bet you nearly wet yourself—” Daijiro yelped as Ryuzo tackled him, wrestling and shoving at each other in the dirt until their mother stuck her head out of the house and called for them to come in from the cold.

#

Jin began visiting the farm regularly, which unnerved even Daijiro at first. “What more does his family want from us?” Daijiro asked now and then.

“Think he’s lonely,” Ryuzo said. Loneliness was a novel concept for Ryuzo—he’d always had his brothers, annoying as they were. Jin didn’t appear to have any friends.

“He’ll grow older and become like the rest,” Daijiro said. The other samurai kids from the clans in Kubara Prefecture were bullies to a hair, nasty pieces of work who thought nothing about running off to their powerful parents with feigned complaints if anyone got on their wrong side. 

“Maybe,” Ryuzo said. He wasn’t so sure. Jin had already run afoul of the other samurai kids—sometimes he showed up to Ryuzo’s house with bruises that he refused to explain. Besides, Daijiro himself was starting to have less and less time for Ryuzo, now that he’d gotten old enough to be interested in girls. Ryuzo complained about this to Jin as they made their way through the woods to their preferred fishing spot. 

“Wouldn’t your mother arrange his marriage?” Jin asked as they walked. 

“Why would she?” 

Jin gave Ryuzo a long, puzzled stare. “Isn’t that what parents do?” 

“Has your father done the same?” 

“Not yet, but I presume he will.” Jin’s soft face took on his usual reserved expression at the mention of his father. 

“Must be strange,” Ryuzo said. “Marrying someone you don’t know.” 

“There’s a limited number of options unless my father intends to involve a daughter of a mainland clan,” Jin said. He didn’t sound like he cared, his tone as casual as discussing the weather.

“Would you have liked to choose?” 

“I…” Jin glanced at Ryuzo, then frowned, nibbling on his lip and looking up at the trees. “I don’t know.” His cheeks reddened a little. “The life I have now isn’t so bad.” 

“That’s what I’ve been telling you. Good food and nice clothes, hm?” 

“Good friends too,” Jin said with a shy smile. He tensed as Ryuzo laughed and slung an arm over his shoulder, but relaxed, leaning into Ryuzo. 

“Keep that in mind,” Ryuzo said, poking Jin’s cheek, “especially when you grow up and have to be _the_ Lord Sakai.” He paused at the sound of a biwa through the trees. Curious, Ryuzo trotted in its direction with Jin at his heels, emerging at a crossroad where a travelling musician was setting up on a mat. Other villagers had already staked out prime spots, though a glance at Jin’s clothes had them gasp and make way. Ryuzo dragged Jin to the front and sat. 

The musician acknowledged Jin’s presence with a startled look but averted his eyes, clearing his throat as he strummed the biwa. “O! Listen to the Tale of the Demon Fox and the Lightning Tree! Once, long ago, Inari Ōkami descended from Heaven in the form of a beautiful woman, to ease the suffering of a village broken under famine. In the hidden valley where They took their first step, one of the goshinboku began to grow. Taller and taller, older and older, until it became one of the oldest and greatest living things on Tsushima, a tree with boughs wider than a man’s waist, always crowned in a red cloak of leaves no matter the season.” 

“Really?” Ryuzo muttered, and winced as Jin elbowed him sharply. 

As he glared at Jin, the musician ignored Ryuzo and continued, “The kitsune were drawn to the goshinboku—attracted by the signature of their goddess’ passage. Both good—the zenko—and bad, the yako. Alas, it was a demon of a fox who chose to make the goshinboku her home. A nine-tailed yako, Tamamo no Mae. From the tree, she wrought her mischief on the lands, spreading strife and chaos, revelling in treacherous deeds. Again and again, the kami sought to punish her, but her cunning ways withstood their will. The valley caught fire during a harsh summer, only for the tree to remain untouched. Takemikazuchi-no-o-no-kami struck the tree again and again with lightning, but it lived still, even as its trunk grew blackened, its leaves partly ashen.” 

“Why is the treacherous spirit in these stories always a woman? Isn’t that unfair?” Ryuzo asked, which got him another hard elbow to the ribs. 

“At long last, tiring of her mischief, Inari Ōkami themself—kami of blacksmiths—agreed to a pact with Takemikazuchi-no-o-no-kami, the Lord of the Blade. They tricked Tamamo no Mae into taking the form of a katana and sealed her mischief into it, her love of chaos, her taste for blood. Once trapped, they bound the katana into the heart of the tree she loved. It’s said that the katana remains there still, waiting for a child of chaos to find it. That once found, only the kami would be able to stop the vengeance that Tamamo no Mae has promised to wreak on those who imprisoned her. So ends the Tale of a sword and the lightning tree, of the mischief of foxes and the wrath of the kami.” 

Jin clapped enthusiastically with the others as the musician strummed his final chords. Ryuzo muttered, “Good luck getting vengeance on a couple of Gods.” 

“Ryuzo!” Jin hissed. 

The musician laughed, smiling at them. “The boy raises a fair point. I’m Yamato.” 

“Ryuzo,” Ryuzo said, and gestured at Jin. “This is Sakai Jin.” 

Some of the villagers gasped, murmuring acknowledgements and hurrying away. Jin frowned at Ryuzo, even as he took a coin pouch from his robes and emptied it into Yamato’s collection plate. “Don’t drive away his customers,” Jin said.

“You’re overpaying,” Ryuzo shot back. 

“Thank you for your generosity, Lord Sakai,” Yamato said, hastily gathering up the coins before Jin changed his mind. 

“So is there really a sword like that on Tsushima?” Ryuzo asked, sceptical. “Inside a huge tree? Surely I’d have heard of something like that.” 

“Tsushima is a mountainous island with many secrets,” Yamato said, which wasn’t much of an answer. “Perhaps there might be a tree like that, perhaps not. That is the nature of stories.” 

“Sounds one-sided to me,” Ryuzo said, “claiming everything was this yako’s fault. The kami don’t care about the rest of us that much. If they did, there wouldn’t be hunger and sickness.” 

“Ah, a conceit of the young,” Yamato said with a wry smile. “Assuming that the kami are human, with human concerns and compassion and cares. The kami are kami.” 

“Why bother worshipping them, then?” Ryuzo asked with a snort. “Might as well worship the samurai, like Jin here. They’ve got greater direct power over our lives.” 

“We do worship the samurai,” Yamato said, if with a glance at Jin. “Humanity worships the powerful, venerating the masters of bloodshed. That is why our world is the way it is. With the samurai our lords.” 

“And with anyone who steps out of place getting sealed into a sword within a tree.” Ryuzo smirked challengingly. 

“That’s one way to look at that story,” Yamato said with a laugh, strumming his lute. “How about another one, closer to home? Perhaps the Tale of Lord and Lady Adachi?” 

“My uncle banned that in the castle,” Jin said, frowning. “Said it was all lies.” 

“Really? Now I’m curious,” Ryuzo said, straightening up eagerly.

#

The bandit plague spread south out of Yarikawa, infesting even the prefecture within the shadow of Castle Shimura. Men made desperate from hunger turned to violence—and learned that they liked it well. They grew good at evading the samurai—then better at killing them. Many of them, after all, used to be Clan Yarikawa’s kashindan, now clanless to a man. Jin wasn’t the only one who ended up mourning family. As the bandits rampaged through Kubara prefecture, Ryuzo buried his brothers and his mother. He sold the farm for a pittance to a neighbour and took up Shintaro’s old hunting bow, walking into the woods.

Drifting, Ryuzo dimly knew that this was a bad idea. Unlike Jin, Ryuzo had never trained in the use of a sword—not that he had one. He wasn’t that good with the bow. The bandits had killed their way through the Sakai kashindan and ransacked the clan housing—what could Ryuzo do against people good enough to do that? Wasn’t even as though he felt consumed by vengeance or anything like that. It felt as though his family’s death had hollowed out his world, leaving him with nothing. Not even grief or rage. Somewhere within it, Jin was a bright and distant point of light, but Ryuzo ignored that for now, preferring to drown. 

Ryuzo walked his feet bloody in aimless directions, dead-eyed. Scraped his knees and elbows on the crags in his way, until he was further away from Omi village than he remembered going. Ryuzo should be hungry by now, but his belly felt as cored out as the rest of him, so he walked. Slept where he could, only to get up and drink a little water from his gourd and walk some more. 

When Ryuzo found himself walking out from a winding ravine onto a plateau of dead grass with a gigantic blackened tree, he briefly wondered if he were dead or delirious. A rotting, plaited rope of woven rice straw marked the tree’s massive waist, with lightning bolt-shaped strips of paper hung against the rope. Storm clouds obscured the moon, casting the tree into deep shadow. Yet Ryuzo could see every line of it against the roiling sky—its dying leaves, its tangled roots. 

The yawning gap in its flank, barely wide enough for a boy to squeeze through.

A chill breeze kicked up as Ryuzo ventured closer, dry-mouthed. It shook the crown of leaves above him into sibilant laughter, the branches into creaks and moans. The air around Ryuzo rose thick with rot as he pressed a palm to the bark, his hand coming away sooty. 

Well.

Why not? 

Ryuzo threw back his head with a hoarse laugh. Kami and kitsune and hidden swords. Stories about the Gods were just distractions, Ryuzo knew that now. A way to explain away the world’s cruelty and pain, to recast it into wonders that made life still worth living for the gullible. He squeezed through the gap, choking on rot. Something scuttled away under his feet, crawling briefly against his ankles. Things hissed underfoot or chittered and scuttled. The body of the tree ate away the light that remained, burying Ryuzo in the gloom. He felt as though he were groping his way toward Yomi-no-kuni, or into some halfway void where the mortal world ended and limbo began. A suitable prison for a yako who dared to frighten the kami. A suitable tomb for the third son of farmers, who would amount to nothing and no-one. 

Ryuzo’s outstretched hand pressed against crumbling wood. He laughed again, the bitter sound echoing through the dead tree. Of course. There was nothing here. Even if there had been, bandits would've stolen it long ago—Tsushima wasn’t a large island, and the musician must have heard the story from somewhere. Perhaps the sword—if any—now lay in some samurai’s private collection, gathering dust. Ryuzo sat in the heart of the tree, pressing his head against the decay and closing his eyes as he laughed until he finally felt heartsick. Now, when Ryuzo closed his eyes, he could hear his mother admonishing him to help Shintaro with farm chores. Daijiro, boasting about his latest girlfriend. Shintaro, telling him to be careful about snakes as they worked the rice fields. Tears tracked their way down Ryuzo’s cheeks, his laughter fading into shaky gasps. 

First grief, then rage. What was the point of the samurai, if they couldn’t stop things like this? Why pay them taxes and venerate them, when people died anyway? Ryuzo pressed his palms to either side of the heart of the tree and let out a raw cry that had little to do with sorrow and everything to do with fury. Over the life he had been born into, the life that had been taken from him. Sealing his rage into the bones of a dead tree. 

Something shook loose, shards of debris falling onto Ryuzo’s face. As he yelped and brought up his hands, a heavy object hit his arms with a glancing blow, falling with a clatter into his lap. Ryuzo tried to scramble up to his feet and got tangled up in whatever it was instead, scrabbling at nothing in a panic until he realised what the object had to be. As he ran his fingertips over the hilt, tracing an odd shape entwined against the tsukamaki wrapping that Ryuzo would later know to be a fox, the goshinboku tree echoed his cry back toward him, reverberating it down through from the dark.

#

The ronin walked amongst the dead in the bandit camp, studying the arrows in their back, the bloody gashes crossing paling skin. Crows leapt for branches at his approach, cawing their reproach at the interrupted feast. He stopped at a respectful distance from Ryuzo, surveying him with a calculating eye under his broad straw hat.

“That wound will get infected if you don’t find treatment,” said the ronin, nodding at Ryuzo’s thigh.

“Obviously. Any more pearls of wisdom?” Ryuzo bit out, trying to bind the wound in question with cloth ripped off the clothes of one of the dead. 

The ronin looked around the camp. “Did you do this?” 

“What do you think?” 

“I’d think you were one of them,” the ronin said, smiling, “but your eyes, now. Your eyes make you interesting. Full of grievance. A demon of a fox, like the one on that sword you hold. Though still a cub, in your case.” 

Ryuzo cradled the katana protectively. “It’s mine. I found it.”

“You don’t find things like that,” the ronin said, walking over to go down on one knee beside him. “They find you. Let me help. It’s depressing seeing people make a mess out of bandaging.” 

Ryuzo scowled but said nothing as the ronin undid the bindings, washed out the wound with water, then sprinkled something on it from a pouch at his hip, binding it with a fresh rag. “Thanks,” Ryuzo said, if grudgingly. “I’m Ryuzo.” 

“Kosei,” said the ronin. He had warm, laughing eyes despite the hardness of his face. “Do you have family, Ryuzo?”

Ryuzo spared a thought for Jin, but Jin was a friend. Not family. “Not anymore.” 

Kosei glanced back at the dead men. “You have some skill with the bow, and some raw talent with the blade. Come with me. I’ll train you.” 

“I don’t know you.”

“Do you have anywhere else to go?” 

Ryuzo looked away. “I might.” 

“Go there, then.” Kosei straightened up. “Careful about that fine sword you carry, though. Most people in these parts will assume that you’ve stolen it, and try to take it from you.” 

“If they do, I’ll cut them down.”

“Then you’ll become no more than one of these,” Kosei said, nudging a dead man’s arm with a foot. “Little more than a beast, driven by your hunger and pain.” 

“All men are beasts,” Ryuzo said with a bitter laugh, getting to his feet. “Those who think otherwise are just lying to themselves.” 

“Hah.” Kosei smiled, pulling down the brim of his hat. “You’re an interesting little brat. Well, if you ever change your mind about that training, look for me at Umugi Cove. Ask for the Straw Hats.”

#

Ryuzo bound some straw around the scabbard and plastered mud over the silver etching of a sprinting fox along its flank, then wrapped the hilt in faded old cloth. The effect wouldn’t pass muster on closer inspection, but from afar, it made the blade look worn and cheap. He murmured a brief apology to Tamamo no Mae as he did it, hoping she wouldn’t mind. If there truly was a yako spirit bound within the blade, however, she paid Ryuzo no heed. Perhaps Tamamo no Mae considered her work done by the act of falling into his hands. That made him think.

Kashindan barred his way into the Sakai estate, even though Ryuzo tried to get them to let him in to see Jin. Ryuzo didn’t recognise them—they looked new, and were wearing clan crests on their armour that Ryuzo didn’t know. As he considered making a bigger fuss, a woman in a kimono walked into view and noticed him with a frown. 

Ryuzo grimaced. He’d been hoping not to run into Yuriko. As one of Clan Sakai’s retainers, she was forever getting on Jin’s case to associate with people more ‘worthy’, or whatever that was. Her dislike of Ryuzo was mutual. As she walked over, Ryuzo drew himself up. “I just want to talk to Jin,” Ryuzo said.

“ _Lord_ Sakai,” Yuriko corrected in an icy tone. “The clan is in mourning, boy. Take yourself and your mischief elsewhere.” 

“So I can’t even offer my condolences to a friend?” Ryuzo asked. Typical. 

“Have some respect,” said one of the kashindan at the gates. 

“Lord Sakai isn’t the only one who just lost family to bandits,” Ryuzo snapped, clenching his fists, “so why is his grief the only sort that matters?” Turning on his heel, Ryuzo marched off back toward the village, only for Yuriko to catch up with him.

“Ryuzo,” Yuriko said gently. “Your mother…? Oh. And your brothers?” Ryuzo glared up at her, not wanting to give her the satisfaction, but Yuriko must have read it in his face anyway. Her usually stern and unforgiving expression crumpled. “I’m so sorry.” 

Surprised by her compassion, Ryuzo said, “Wasn’t you who did it. Can I talk to Ji—Lord Sakai now?” 

“He isn’t here. He’s gone to Castle Shimura for a while, and I’m not sure when he’ll be back. Lord Shimura has taken him in as his ward.” 

“Oh.” That made sense. Ryuzo should’ve known. “Never mind, then.” 

“Do you have anywhere to go?” Yuriko asked, looking hesitant. “I could find a… Clan Sakai is always looking for retainers.” 

“Kashindan?” Ryuzo asked with a dry laugh. “Or servants?” 

“You don’t know how to use a blade. How can you be one of the kashindan?” Yuriko asked. Her gaze dropped belatedly to the blade at Ryuzo’s hip, at the drying blood that formed dark stains on his haori. Before she could ask, Ryuzo pushed himself into a sprint, running for the woods. Yuriko called after him, but he ignored her, running until his lungs burned. 

The castle. 

Ryuzo had never been to Castle Shimura before, but he imagined it’d be harder to get into than the Sakai estate. No one at the gates was going to believe that a grubby kid was the friend of the nephew of the Jitō. Ryuzo walked there anyway, feeding himself on whatever he could catch off the land. Not that there was much—it was going to be another lean winter. By the time Ryuzo reached the gates of Castle Shimura, perched atop Kubara falls, there was no need to hide the blade at his hip. It’d grown as muddy and dusty as Ryuzo was. 

The kashindan at the gates of Castle Shimura wore the same emblem as the ones at the Sakai housing. Shimura kashindan, then. The captain was kinder than they had been, but equally firm. He clearly didn’t believe Ryuzo was Jin’s friend, but he gave Ryuzo a small bundle of water gourds and dried rations. Out of pity, probably, but Ryuzo thanked him for the gesture.

Back on the road, Ryuzo exhaled, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. Umugi Cove, then. 

He walked for an hour before the sound of a cantering horse made him turn out of habit and get off the road. It was Jin. As Ryuzo stared, Jin reined up beside him and dismounted, hugging him tightly as though he didn’t see the filth on Ryuzo’s clothes. “Ryuzo! Your family… I’m sorry.” 

“Yuriko told you already?” That was fast.

“No, I… after my father’s funeral, before I was meant to come to Castle Shimura with my uncle, I went to your farm to tell you where I was going. I saw the graves, I. I hoped you were still alive.” Jin hugged Ryuzo more tightly. “Ryuzo, why didn’t you come and look for me?”

“I did,” Ryuzo said, patting Jin on the back. “Twice. Turns out people don’t tend to believe that we could be friends.” 

Jin drew back. “The gate captain mentioned you to me in passing. That’s when I rode out to look for you. Come. You must be hungry and tired. There’d be a place for you in Castle Shimura.” 

“As what?” Ryuzo asked

“As my friend,” Jin said, not understanding the edge to Ryuzo’s tone. 

“Is there even a real place for you there?” Ryuzo asked, knowing he should eat his words, should smile and thank Jin and go with him. Yet there was a demon in the heart of his soul, same as the tree. It was how he’d been meant to find what he had. It was the demon who said, “You’re not a Shimura, Jin. You’re a Sakai. The moment your uncle remarries, you won’t be his ward anymore. What will happen to me then, hm?” 

“I…!” Jin drew back, hurt. “Take that back.” 

“You should go back to Omi Village. The bandits in the prefecture left a mess and—hoi! Jin!” Ryuzo called after Jin as Jin jerked away from him and got on his horse with a strangled sound. Watching Jin go, Ryuzo rolled his eyes. Well. So much for that. “Samurai,” Ryuzo muttered under his breath, and kept walking.

#

Kosei was unsurprised to see Ryuzo. “You stink,” Kosei said as one of the Straw Hats chivvied Ryuzo into his presence. “Daiki, make sure the boy takes a bath. And give him something to eat.”

Ryuzo scrubbed in the river, dressed in clean if oversized clothes, and ate to a full stomach for the first time in what felt like forever. He was in a far better mood about Jin and life in general when he was shown back into Kosei’s company. The ronin sat in a sprawl within a house in the corner of Umugi Cove, drinking what smelled like cheap sake. Kosei smiled at the face Ryuzo pulled as Ryuzo sat before him, holding out a hand for the cleaned-up blade. When Ryuzo hesitated, Kosei said, “Boy, if I wanted to have that sword, I could take it from you right now without breaking a sweat.” 

Scowling, Ryuzo handed it over reluctantly. Kosei studied the little silver fox threaded through the binding on the hilt, then the intricate etching along the scabbard. Finally, he pulled a finger’s length of the blade out of the scabbard, inspecting the hamon. With a low whistle, he handed the blade back to Ryuzo. “Named it yet?” Kosei asked. 

“Splinter of Goshinboku,” Ryuzo said. 

“Funny name for a sword, naming it for a sacred tree.” 

“It’s _my_ sword,” Ryuzo muttered. “I’ll name it what I want.”

“No, it isn’t. You just happen to be its current wielder.” Kosei yawned, stretching out a leg and scratching his cheek. “There’s a number of those cursed things around. Heard of a longbow to the north. Thought of getting my hands on it now and then, but I like my life as it is now. Curse-free.” 

“You believe in folktales?”

“Don’t you?” Kosei asked, amused. “Where did you find that thing, then?” 

“I don’t believe that some kami had an argument with a kitsune and turned her into a katana,” Ryuzo said, holding the sword against him. “I think somebody hid their sword in a tree because they didn’t want anyone else to have it, then made up a story like that to scare people off.” 

“Normal blades don’t look that good without a lot of care,” Kosei said, but he made a dismissive gesture. “Well, whatever it is. Why are you here?” 

“You’re right, and I was wrong,” Ryuzo said, because he didn’t mind admitting something like that. “Teach me how to use this blade.” 

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I want in return?” At the rabbity, hunted look to Ryuzo’s eyes, Kosei chuckled. “Not something like that. My preferences don’t run toward skinny, resentful brats with no common sense.” 

“What do you want, then?” 

“The same thing I ask of all the dangerous little brats I take in. I’ll feed you, clothe you, train you how to fight. It’ll incur a reasonable debt, one that you’ll pay off by working for me as one of the Straw Hats once I deem you ready for little missions.”

“Working? For how long?” Ryuzo asked, suspicious. 

“After a task or two, I’ll deem your debt repaid. Most people tend to stay on. It’s a good life, being a masterless swordsman,” Kosei said, patting the blade at his hip. “We drink, eat, work when we want to, fish or sleep when we don’t. I command more men than some samurai have as their kashindan, and while it’s sometimes a bother to keep all of them fed and happy, we’re family. A family we choose.” 

“A family you choose,” Ryuzo repeated to himself. “All right.”

#

Lord Shimura turned out to be a regular client of the Straw Hats, which meant being dragged along on Kosei’s next visit to the castle. Kosei claimed it was because Ryuzo was the ‘most housetrained’ of all the ‘little monsters’ in their family, but Ryuzo suspected it was because he’d admitted to Kosei that he’d grown up with Jin. The joke was on Kosei, though. If Kosei thought Ryuzo’s sometime childhood friendship with Jin was going to net him a better payment rate, he’d find out otherwise soon enough.

Jin gawked at Ryuzo as they walked into the compound before the main keep, but instead of storming off or leaving the vicinity like Ryuzo was braced for, he rushed over instead. “Ryuzo!” Jin said. He wore a complicated look on his face, somewhere between relief and guilt. 

Kosei glanced between them and kept walking for the keep. Torn between following and talking to Jin, Ryuzo said, “You look well.” Jin looked better than well—the skinny kid Ryuzo was used to had grown up. Nearly as tall as Ryuzo now, if still filling out. Soft-cheeked still, but growing handsome. 

“Where have you been?” Jin asked. “That day… I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you like that. I rode back to look for you, but I couldn’t find you.” 

Ryuzo nodded slowly. He’d walked off the road past Kubara crossing, choosing to take a meandering path through the woods to Umugi Cove. “Doesn’t matter,” Ryuzo said. 

Jin glanced at the sword at Ryuzo’s hip, then shot Ryuzo a questioning stare. “What have you been up to?” Jin asked. 

“This and that,” Ryuzo said. He found himself unable to admit that he was in training to become one of the ronin. Fun as it had been so far. It wasn’t a point of shame, but a point of difference, one that made him conscious of his worn clothes, of the old hat he wore. Next to Jin in his golden robes and armour. 

“Let’s talk,” Jin urged, drawing Ryuzo away from the main keep. Ryuzo hesitated, looking over at his shoulder at Kosei, but ended up following Jin to a quieter part of the keep. Once out of sight of the retainers and guards, Jin whispered, “I missed you.”

“I…” Ryuzo cleared his throat. “So did I.” Annoying as Jin could be now and then, he’d been fun to have around. More like a brother than just a friend, growing up. 

“I won’t ask where you’ve been, or ask you to work for me if you don’t want to,” Jin said, looking anxiously at Ryuzo, “but I hope you’d visit me here. Or in Omi village. I’m there most of the time. I’ll give the gate captains your name.” 

Kosei didn’t force people to stay in Umugi Cove, not even the people he was training. “All right,” Ryuzo said, relenting under Jin’s gaze. “We can fish and get drunk. On your uncle’s sake.” 

Jin laughed. The odd tension between them eased as he grasped Ryuzo’s shoulder, smiling. “Let’s get started on that right now, then. I have a cask.”

#

Comfortable as life became, was it any surprise that Ryuzo soon grew restless? Kosei liked to laugh and joke and call it the effects of a yako’s curse, but Ryuzo had long grown too old to blame his flaws on curses and swords. He’d always dared to want more than he was meant to want. Whether it was his lot in life, or a sword out of a tale, or a forbidden taste of a boy who should have been his friend, and only his friend.

Besides, Ryuzo might have been the one who kissed Jin first as a joke that wasn’t quite a joke, but it was Jin who moaned and kissed him back. It was Jin who began to look at Ryuzo like Ryuzo was something he wished he could keep, Jin who would climb into his lap when they were alone and whisper dangerous things into his ear. Things that Jin would forget once he grew older. Ryuzo knew that the way he knew the sun would rise tomorrow in the east. Managing Omi Village and taking on some of his uncle’s duties meant that Jin had less and less time to be going off to hunt and fish, less and less time for Ryuzo. It would only get worse the older they got. 

Ryuzo should’ve left things at that, but the demon in him couldn’t. It kept him coming back to steal Jin away, tempting him into long rides away from people who’d call Jin _Lord Sakai_ and look at Ryuzo like they weren’t sure why Ryuzo was there. Out in the woods, Ryuzo could pretend that Jin was just like him, that the not-quite-friendship they had could last. Kosei took to smiling wryly whenever Ryuzo rode off from Umugi Cove, as though Ryuzo reminded him of past mistakes. Ryuzo didn’t care. If the demon within men cursed people like Ryuzo and Kosei to repeat a history of shared mistakes, so be it.

Jin gasped when Ryuzo showed him the dead valley with the burned tree. He rushed over to the blackened tree, peering inside the gap, then at the sword on Ryuzo’s hip. “Really? The musician’s tale was true?”

“I don’t know how true it is,” Ryuzo said as he walked over, “or whether someone made up a convenient rumour that musicians liked enough to turn into a myth.” 

“May I?” Jin asked, holding out a hand.

It was just as hard to hand Jin the blade as it was Kosei. Jin didn’t trace the engraving though, or check the hamon. He studied the leaping fox on the hilt, looking between it and Ryuzo. “Suits you somehow,” Jin said. 

“A cursed blade forged by the gods to contain a demon fox?” Ryuzo asked, chuckling. 

“No, I… I don’t know.” Jin handed the blade back to Ryuzo. “I mean, you deserve it. A known blade like that. Not because it’s cursed, but because you’re a great swordsman.” 

“How do you even know that? We haven’t sparred before,” Ryuzo said. He’d been getting better under Kosei’s tutelage. Not as good as Kojiro, perhaps, but possibly as good as Kanetomo, at least. 

“From the way you hold yourself. It’s a sense. I’m not trying to flatter you. We could have a duel in the castle.” 

“That’d be fun,” Ryuzo conceded. Besides, it might keep his options open. As much as Ryuzo fully intended to repay Kosei for his care, he wasn’t so sure about being one of the ronin forever. Ronin didn’t tend to grow old enough to retire. Or if they did, they didn’t do it comfortably. 

“Tell me when you’re ready then, and I’ll let my uncle know.” Jin started to try and squeeze into the gap, pausing when Ryuzo grasped his wrist. “What?”

“Fairly sure there were snakes in there,” Ryuzo said.

Jin looked at him in horror. “You were bitten?” 

“No, I got lucky. Besides, I doubt you’d fit, and what’s the point? There’s nothing else in there. But snakes.” 

“True.” Jin started to say more but hesitated as Ryuzo drew him into his arms for a kiss, one that grew demanding as Jin curled his arms around Ryuzo’s neck. As they sank over the roots, Jin asked, laughing, “What about the snakes?” 

“I’ll bite you first,” Ryuzo said, nipping Jin on the throat. Jin squeaked, then moaned as Ryuzo sucked a kiss over the mark. He sucked more bites past Jin’s collar, then grumbled and wrestled Jin onto his hands and knees, pulling at his obi. Armour was going to be too much of a hassle to navigate. With the demon riding Ryuzo’s blood, with them here at the foot of a tree that had once marked a God's passage. He pulled Jin’s hakama down, marking his firm rump with bites, stroking Jin’s cock through his fundoshi until the cloth grew damp. 

Jin whimpered, pushing into Ryuzo’s hand, scratching at the dirt. “Please,” he moaned, always pretty like this. A wanton in Ryuzo’s grasp, groaning as Ryuzo cursed and undid their clothes. Just enough to squeeze his fingers over Jin’s cock, urging up his hips, pushing his firm thighs together. Slicking up his cock with spit, Ryuzo pushed into the tight space between Jin’s thighs, fetching up under his balls. Jin gasped, tensing up, making the gap tighter still. Ryuzo growled as he thrust, tugging at Jin’s cock, arched over Jin with his free hand tangled with Jin’s fingers. The sticky late summer air felt heavy in Ryuzo’s lungs, listening to the slick sounds their bodies made. To the moans that Jin didn’t bother to swallow, so far away from the castle with only gods and demons to hear them. 

“Ryuzo, Ryuzo,” Jin keened as Ryuzo picked up the pace, grunting as he chased their pleasure. He cried out as he bucked into Ryuzo’s grip, spurting over his fingers and clawing at the roots of the lightning tree. Jin shivered as he caught his breath, his gaze unfocused, cheeks flushed. His lips parted, speaking nonsense that Ryuzo knew better than to believe. “I love you,” Jin whispered, as Ryuzo cursed and spilt, wetting the soil. 

Now as before, Ryuzo pretended he didn’t hear it. Easier that way. This close to the lightning tree, Ryuzo could almost pick out the long-ago echo of the inarticulate rage he’d pressed into its heart, folded close to the surface, a rage that had nothing to do with Jin and everything to do with people like Jin.

On their way back to the castle, Ryuzo said, “That duel. Maybe in a month?” 

Jin smiled warmly at him. “Go easy on me.” 

“Hah, you wish.” Ryuzo ran a hand over the tsukamaki on his blade until his thumb fetched up against the silver fox. He could almost feel something like laughter echo up through his fingertip, something like rage. Waiting for the bloodletting to come. “See you then.”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: @manic_intent  
> donation prompt policy, my original work/book, my writing process etc: manicintent.carrd.co  
> \--  
> https://japanworld.info/blog/%E5%BE%A1%E7%A5%9E%E6%9C%A8%EF%BC%8Fgoshinboku-the-sacred-trees/  
> https://thewillowweb.com/2018/06/14/trees-in-japanese-culture-and-folklore/
> 
> As mentioned in my earlier fic The Dragon Gate, Jin’s (and Ryuzo’s etc) names are wrong for this time period: they’d have had different names (ending in -maru etc) as children, and Jin would’ve had several names, including a 2 kanji name as an adult, one name of which would reflect his birth order (so if anything, it’d be Jinichiro/Jintaro). Ryuzo’s name means dragon third (third son), but a simplified name like his without the ~rō would only have come into use after the late 1500s. https://sengokudaimyo.com/japanese-names 
> 
> https://www.inverse.com/gaming/ghost-of-tsushima-composer-ilan-eshkeri-biwa-instrument


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